Harry Potter: I am the Legend

The weather grew colder as Aglaea and her father ventured beyond the bounds of Hogwarts, searching for the missing dragon and student. They had even left the southern Scottish Highlands, arriving near the waters of the Hebrides.

The sky was tinged with the hues of twilight.

On a rugged mountain path, Fatir, clad in a gray wizard's robe, held a cigarette in his mouth and a wand in his hand. He waved the wand rhythmically in the air, and with each movement, a speck of green stardust descended and landed in his palm.

The area was desolate, filled with jagged stones and craggy hills that resembled dragon bones scattered across the ground. A stream gurgled softly nearby, breaking the eerie silence of the barren wilderness.

On the frost-covered ground, Aglaea exhaled a breath of white mist. She watched her father fiddle with his wand and wore an expression of growing impatience.

"Still haven't found it? How long has it been?"

"Almost there. I can feel it's nearby," Fatir said softly.

"Are you serious? 'Nearby' and then 'nearby' again. Please, I don't want to spend Christmas in the wild."

"Patience is essential," Fatir replied, squinting at the magical light in his hand. "This opponent isn't as simple as you think."

As he spoke, the light coalesced into a tiny arrow, pointing in a new direction. He rubbed his palms together, scattered the stardust, and began following its lead.

Aglaea sighed, rubbing her temples in frustration, and reluctantly followed him.

Since the disappearance of the student a week ago, they had encountered no unusual occurrences.

To Aglaea, the man she had seen that night felt like a phantom—so vague she couldn't even remember his face. Her father had returned to his usual taciturn self, speaking no more than was absolutely necessary.

When they reached a stream, Fatir stopped again, puffing on his cigarette while his wand waved in the air. When the cigarette burned out, he casually dropped the butt on the ground.

Leaning against a tree with arms crossed, Aglaea observed him coldly. To her, this man resembled a third-world thug—completely unsophisticated in his methods. She couldn't fathom what her mother had ever seen in him.

She decided to voice her thoughts.

"Hey," she called out.

"What?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"You've been away for years. What were you doing?"

"Busy," Fatir replied without looking up.

"Busy with what?" she pressed.

"More important matters," he answered flatly.

"And what important matters would those be?"

"Things you can't be involved in," Fatir said dismissively, clearly uninterested in continuing the conversation.

"Ha," Aglaea scoffed. "Mother's already thrown out all your photos."

"Oh."

Fatir frowned. "Finding the dragon and the student isn't easy. Focus."

Aglaea turned away, took a few steps, and angrily kicked a rock into the nearby stream. It landed with a loud splash.

"Shh." Fatir raised his hand.

The gesture only irritated Aglaea further. She stomped harder, sending another stone flying toward the water.

Before it could splash, however, the stone floated in mid-air.

Fatir had halted it with a Levitation Charm. He glared at her sternly.

"Shh!"

A faint splashing sound drifted from afar, growing closer. Aglaea froze, her eyes darting nervously. "Did you find him?"

Fatir didn't answer. Grabbing her arm, he cast a Disillusionment Charm over both of them, rendering them invisible.

Moments later, a tall figure appeared by the stream. The figure carried a cloth sack and moved cautiously, scanning the surroundings.

Under the dim light of the early winter sunset, Aglaea saw him clearly. He was a boy, clad in a coarse robe, towering in stature but with a surprisingly youthful and somewhat naive face.

Her heart skipped a beat. His appearance was unnervingly strange.

The boy approached the riverbank, pulled out several bottles and jars from his chest, and began sprinkling their contents along the shore.

A faint, spicy fragrance wafted into Aglaea's nose. Wherever the powder landed, vibrant, multicolored fungi began to sprout rapidly, their hues dazzling.

Once the fungi had fully grown, the boy yanked them up in handfuls and stuffed them into his sack.

When the sack was bulging, he muttered, "That should be enough," slung it over his shoulder, and quickly disappeared into the woods.

As the boy's broad figure faded from sight, Fatir removed the Disillusionment Charm.

"Who was that? Why does he look so..." Aglaea began.

"He's likely a half-giant," Fatir said gravely, as if recalling something.

"A half-giant? Then doesn't that mean..."

"Like you," Fatir finished for her.

Aglaea's expression darkened. She glared at him furiously and hissed, "Say that again!"

Fatir glanced at her fiery reaction, shook his head, and said nothing more.

Then he walked to the stream and stared at a few remaining fungi that hadn't been plucked. "You should be knowledgeable about potions. Tell me, what are these plants used for?"

"Why don't you figure it out yourself?" Aglaea sneered sarcastically. "I've heard that elves live long lives and are supposed to know everything, right?"

"I don't understand potions," Fatir responded calmly, showing no irritation. He gave her a simple command, "Go and take a look for me. You were the one who insisted on coming along."

Aglaea took a deep breath, suppressing the frustration bubbling inside her. Thinking about the missing dragons and students, she stepped forward decisively, her shoulder brushing against her father's as she pushed past him.

"Fine, just wait."

Aglaea followed the stream, carefully examining the stumps where the fungi had been harvested. As she analyzed them, she muttered the names of each type she identified: "Nightmare Cigar, Bloodfang Fungus, Deathcap, Pufferfish Fungus, Ant Lamp…"

After counting all the fungi, she froze. "These are ingredients for a powerful anesthetic—used to sedate large creatures. What was that guy doing with these?"

As soon as she finished speaking, Fatir strode ahead quickly.

Aglaea followed him but was abruptly pushed aside.

"Stay here. I'll be back shortly," he said.

Aglaea laughed coldly. "In every story, when someone says that, one of us is bound to die."

"I'm not joking. I need to assess the situation first. If necessary, I'll call for your help."

"Why didn't you say that when you had me identifying the potion ingredients?"

"The circumstances were unclear then. If you follow me recklessly and something happens—"

"You won't be able to explain it to Mom?" Aglaea interjected mockingly.

"Didn't you seem pretty confident just a moment ago?"

Fatir's face darkened. He decided not to argue further.

Aglaea cast him a sharp glance, feeling satisfied. This guy might act like a sage at school, but when it came to her, he was just as helpless.

As the winter sun sank below the horizon, they continued down the mountain path. Ahead of them, the half-giant boy lit a torch, its faint glow illuminating the area. Fatir and Aglaea followed at a distance, careful to stay unnoticed. The boy veered sharply left, descending a steep slope, and they unexpectedly discovered a secluded valley.

Oblivious to the pursuit, the half-giant climbed the slope and quickened his pace along a winding path flanked by towering hedges. The dirt road was rugged, strewn with stones, and eventually led into a shadowy patch of woods. As they ventured further, the pair came across enormous footprints in the dirt, each larger than a grown man lying down.

Fatir's tone grew heavy. "Dragon tracks—adult dragons."

Aglaea's heart raced as her mind flashed back to the summer when she was abducted by a fire dragon. Then she thought of the destruction of Heitzburg—a catastrophe that had wiped out half the goblin population.

With these thoughts lingering, they reached a mountainside where the half-giant boy had vanished, leaving behind only a human-sized cave entrance. The entrance was overgrown with moss and dense stinging nettles that reached up to the opening.

The two exchanged glances. Fatir drew his wand and tapped Aglaea's arm. "Disillusionment Charm."

They once again became invisible and slipped through the nettles into the cave.

Inside, the cave was cluttered with massive timber logs, their surfaces thick with grime accumulated over the years. As they ventured deeper, the space widened into a vast natural cavern, nearly 100 meters high, its ceiling adorned with jagged stalactites.

A foul stench assaulted them as they advanced. Aglaea instinctively covered her nose, but when her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she froze.

A massive dragon's head lay on the ground before her. Startled, she jumped back a step.

The head was enormous, covered in sharp black spikes that made it look particularly menacing. It belonged to an adult Hershidiri Black Dragon.

However, despite its intimidating appearance, the dragon did not move. It neither attacked nor showed any signs of life. It simply lay there, motionless.

Upon closer inspection, they realized the dragon was dead. Its body was cold, its pupils dull, and dried blood stained the gaps between its scales. The stench of decay was unmistakably emanating from its corpse.

Aglaea relaxed slightly and wiped the cold sweat from her brow.

Fatir murmured in disbelief, "Who could have done this?"

Aglaea didn't know. She cautiously circled the enormous dragon corpse. Its body was connected to numerous tubes, resembling some kind of abandoned experiment.

As she ventured further, she came across another fallen dragon. This one had short wings and a dark red body, though it was unclear whether the color came from dried blood or its natural scales.

The moment Aglaea saw it, she recognized it—it was an adult Fireball Dragon.

The sight made her heart clench. The death of these dragons was anything but normal.

Fatir crouched down, poking the dragon's stiff eye with his wand. "This one's been dead for over two months. Cause of death: massive blood loss."

"Why are these dragons in a cave?"

Fatir didn't answer and continued walking.

Aglaea followed, pressing him with a low voice, "You must know something, don't you? Aren't you supposed to be knowledgeable about dragons?"

Fatir shoved her shoulder lightly. "Stay here. Wait for me outside the cave."

"What for?"

"Don't argue," Fatir said, his expression darkening.

Aglaea rubbed her shoulder reluctantly and began walking toward the cave entrance.

She hadn't gone far when a familiar roar echoed through the cave. Aglaea froze, her face paling. "Elizabeth!"

Without hesitation, she followed the sound, sprinting past the dragon corpses.

Fatir, alarmed, abandoned his inspection and rushed after her, trying to grab her.

But Aglaea was faster. She turned a corner and found herself in an unusually vast hall.

The scene before her was like a dragon graveyard. The cavern was littered with the corpses of fire dragons—Welsh Green Dragons, Short-Snout Dragons, and Antipodean Opaleyes—all adults.

Aglaea was stunned.

When she looked up, she saw a line of young dragons suspended in midair. These were the missing dragonlings, all bound by thick steel chains and hanging from the cave's ceiling. Their expressions were listless, and they let out weak, mournful whimpers.

Their bodies were pierced with various tubes, glowing red as they siphoned blood from the dragons' necks. The blood flowed into a massive metal operating table below.

A disheveled man with messy hair and a scruffy beard stood by the operating table, waving his wand over a foot-long gray dragon egg.

As he chanted spells, he roared furiously, "You idiot! Have you brought the ingredients yet?"

Aglaea flinched, thinking she had been discovered.

But she quickly realized the man wasn't addressing her—he was berating his son.

The half-giant boy fumbled with his bag, retrieving the potion ingredients.

"Yes, yes! I brought them back!"

"Hurry up!"

Norbert Hagrid, oblivious to the intruders, continued his tirade. "Don't make me wait too long! If this fails, I'll throw you into the cauldron!"

"Yes, yes..." The boy nervously pulled out a jar, quickly smashing the fungi into paste with clumsy hands.

Still fuming, Norbert grabbed a test tube filled with red liquid, muttering under his breath as its color continuously shifted.

His eyes burned with manic intensity as he stared at the changing potion. "Almost there... just a little more..."

But then, a sharp crash broke the tension.

Aglaea turned to see the half-giant boy scrambling on the ground. He had accidentally dropped the jar, spilling the precious ingredients all over.

Norbert flinched, his eyes blazing red as he snarled, baring his teeth in rage. His unkempt beard quivered as he screamed, "You fool!"

His wand transformed into a purple whip, and he stormed toward the boy.

"You!"

Norbert raised the whip, ready to strike.

Terrified, the boy trembled, hurriedly gathering the spilled contents.

For a moment, a struggle flashed across Norbert's face. His eyes cleared, and he cast a furious glance at the whip in his hand, muttering, "Useless idiot."

At that moment, Fatir emerged from the shadows behind Aglaea. His body swayed slightly as he whispered in disbelief, "Hagrid?"

Though his voice was soft, almost inaudible, it startled Norbert like a bolt of lightning.

He spun around abruptly, drawing his wand.

(To be continued)

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